


our house is burning

by cosmicbees



Series: our house is burning [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, M/M, i'm just here for the pain so hey, lmao kind of enemies not rly but u kno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-26 14:43:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15665295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicbees/pseuds/cosmicbees
Summary: James burns silently for years, until Keith comes back from the void of space."You want something out of this and I want to know what it is.” Keith’s fingers twitch against James’s, but James just tightens his grip, and rubs the pad of his thumb across Keith’s palm.“I don’t.” He pauses, takes a deep breath in, “I don’t want anything.” James thinks if he says it enough that the affirmation will ring true. He wants something from Keith, but he can’t put his finger on what that something is. It’s a desire, somewhere on the tip of his tongue that if he names, if he dares to will it into existence, could consume him from the inside out.Keith finally opens his eyes, gaze fixed on their hands. His voice is barely above a whisper when he speaks, but it still echoes in the hallway, “then what do you need?”





	our house is burning

**Author's Note:**

> hi!!! season 7 broke me as a person so here I am, trying to avoid the fandom by writing Jeith instead!!!!
> 
> title from LSD's song ['Thunderclouds'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JDjTJ6lkb-8).

James Griffin hates Keith Kogane. 

He’s hated Keith since they were in school, has hated every moment of them being cadets together at the Garrison. Has hated the ache behind his ribs when Keith is around him, and hates how it grows more intense when Keith is gone. 

He has hated being compared to Keith despite the fact that he’s been booted from the Garrison, and that he, along with three other cadets kidnapped Takashi Shirogane before disappearing from known space. He grits his teeth against the comparisons, learns to carry the burden of expectation, and studies harder than ever before. Spends more hours in the sims than ever before. Learns to be a better pilot than ever before. 

It only gets him so far.

“Learn to fly, Cadet!” Iverson snapped once when he’d failed a particularly challenging simulator scenario, and had run his entire crew into the side of a mountain. James had heard him muttering to another instructor how “Kogane could’ve flown that sim with his eyes closed.” 

Keith’s disappearance with Shirogane in tow had been both a blessing and a curse. A blessing inasmuch as he was finally out of James’s hair, and a curse because there was always a mystery of the pilot he could have been, if only. A curse because that ‘ _ if only’ _ sits heavy in the bottom of James’s heart.

But James was determined to be  _ that _ pilot now. To be better than Keith Kogane had ever been, to be better than Shirogane, to be the future of the Garrison. 

He does well enough, excels even, and after Commander Holt returns from years on the outer reaches of space with news of an alien empire called the Galra, he finds his niche as a pilot. 

Where he had once been called impulsive, he is now considered adaptable. His hotheadedness is now viewed as an asset, and his aggressive piloting style is praised by Iverson and other commanding officers. 

He is selected to lead a squadron of pilots--newly minted officers--for a new class of fighters called the  _ MFEs _ . It’s so far beyond anything that he’d ever expected, ever hoped for, and they become an asset to the Garrison as earth is pushed into conflict with the Galra. 

The comparisons to Kogane die, slowly, as he establishes himself on his own terms. No longer just a classmate of Keith Kogane, and a pilot who could only hope to keep up with the boy wonder, but a pilot in his own right. 

It’s good for a while. The burning, the ache? They subside into something low and untraceable.

Then Keith comes back. 

 

*****

 

The paladins arrive on a Thursday morning. 

They arrive on a Thursday morning, and in typical Keith Kogane style, they can’t seem to do anything quietly. Instead they traipse through the remains of Platte City, stirring up Galran drones and sentries along the way. James and Rizavi are dispatched to retrieve the group, only to find them surrounded by Galran defensive forces. 

Rizavi throws open the roof of her cruiser and fires a quick round of shots, eliminating one, two, three drones. “Stay down,” she shouts, “we’ve got this!” 

The paladin dressed in red turns on his heel, fire in his eyes, and James takes a stuttering breath in because  _ holy shit, Keith Kogane got tall. _ He opens his mouth to say something, but Keith beats him to it “I had it!”

James barely has time to process the way Keith’s voice has gotten deeper, rougher over the years before he’s snapping in response, “The drones send distress signals when they’re attacked. Our weapons neutralize those signals, so unless you want to deal with a swarm of those things, let  _ us _ handle it.” Keith just stares at him, silent, teeth bared, and James jerks his head towards their vehicles, “now let’s get out here before more show up.”

 

*****

 

“I was wrong about you. It’s an honor and privilege to see you again,” Iverson says nodding at Keith, and James doesn’t think he’s ever heard Iverson use that tone of voice with anyone before. It’s unmistakable respect--pride, even. 

“Thank you sir,” Keith replies, “I guess I wasn’t the...best cadet back then.” James can’t hold back the snort of disbelieving laughter that forces its way out of him at the statement.

James watches from a distance, leaning up against the wheel of his cruiser. Keith not only grew taller in his absence, but broader, muscle more defined. His features have sharpened with age, his face no longer round with baby fat, and his hair is longer than would have been regulation when they were cadets. 

But they’re not cadets anymore. He sees this in the way the Iverson treats Keith as an equal--the commander of something bigger than themselves, and in the way that he carries himself now, tall, shoulders pulled back and head held high. He’s a commanding presence, and suddenly James understands why he’s the lead paladin of Voltron. A desire that James thought he’d shook years ago claws at his throat. 

Keith shoots a glance over his shoulder to where James is standing, and turns to face him. The eye contact is intense, and unexpected, and his helmet suddenly feels hot, too close for comfort in the midday sunshine. He moves to take it off, but he feels exposed--vulnerable to Keith’s piercing gaze without his helmet. Keith’s lips part, ever so slightly, but before he can say a word, James is pushing away from his resting spot, and disappearing into the gathered crowd.

He can feel Keith’s gaze burning into the back of his head for hours afterwards. 

 

*****

 

The Garrison hosts a gathering that night. It’s both a welcome party for the paladins and a morale booster for the civilians who haven’t been allowed to leave for years at this point. Rizavi had slapped James upside the back of the head amiably when he’d complained about the party, calling it a “waste of time, and resources,” before telling him to lighten up and pressing a pilfered bottle of cheap liquor into his hands. 

James has never been one to disobey orders, so he’d promptly taken a couple of generous swigs from the bottle before stashing it in the top drawer of his desk. He stays on the edges of the party for the whole night, one hand shoved deep in his pants pocket, and the other clinging to a cup as though his life depended on it. 

He watches the paladins weave through the crowd, stopping for brief conversations, or to get new drinks. They’re each outfitted in the standard Garrison uniform, draped in hues of cream and orange. James tries not to let his eyes follow Keith any more than the others, but it’s impossible. Keith’s new uniform fits him better than the one they’d worn as cadets ever did--snug around his shoulders, and trim around the waist, and it feels so  _ wrong _ to see him wearing that again.

Keith is quiet. He doesn’t speak to many of the other guests, instead following another member of his team through the crowd, watching silently, shaking hands and laughing at the appropriate times. The smile never quite reaches his eyes, though, and he finds a new partner every so often, networking efficiently between Team Voltron and the Garrison officers. 

Late into the evening Keith stops alongside Shirogane, settling one hand low on his back, with the other wrapped around his arm while he leans in to mutter something in the other man’s ear. Shirogane smirks over at him, and says something that makes Keith grin in response. It’s the first genuine happiness James has has seen from him all night, and something low and hot coils at the bottom of his spine. 

He tells himself it’s not jealousy.

Keith chooses that moment to glance behind him, and James isn’t able to pull his gaze away fast enough, to disappear into the crowd before Keith’s eyes are locked on his own, and he’s frozen in place. In a matter of seconds, Keith wrenches away from where Shiro’s hand has settled on the back of his neck and is across the room.

“You’ve been watching me all night, Griffin,” he hisses, but the look on his face doesn’t match the intensity of his voice. His eyes are soft, brows furrowed in confusion, “what do you  _ want? _ ”

“I don’t want anything from  _ you,  _ Kogane,” James spits, arms crossed defensively across his chest. 

“Then why are you watching me?” Keith leans in close, head cocked to one side, and James instinctively takes a step back. 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Even James can hear the fight seeping out of his voice, giving way to defeat. He’s not the same, angry cadet that had goaded Keith into fights for no reason, anymore. His shoulders slump, and his arms fall to his side when he murmurs “not everything is about the Paladins of Voltron and their triumphant return to Earth, Keith.”

Keith is silent as he reaches up to run a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face while he shrugs, “maybe not.” He steps back, and only then does James realize he’s been backed up against the wall, “maybe you’re right, James.” 

As quickly as he’d appeared before James, Keith has gone again. In the blink of an eye he’s repositioned at Shirogane’s side muttering something to him, before making his way to the door, pushing his way through the crowded room. 

James isn’t sure what makes him follow the other man out. It might be the alcohol still coursing through his veins, or the way that Shirogane’s eyes meet his own for a brief moment, dark and inquisitive, or it may even be the hunger that’s been gnawing at a spot just behind his sternum all day. 

But James follows. 

Keith moves quickly, darting in between the other attendees before he’s out the door. James struggles to keep up, but keeps Keith in his sights nonetheless.

“Keith!” He keeps moving, ignoring the call even when they’re in the hallway, “Hey, wait!” James lunges forward and wraps a hand around Keith’s wrist as he rounds a corner.

Keith rounds on him, eyes and voice equally sharp when he snaps, “Leave me  _ alone _ , James.” 

“Keith, hear me out,” he pleads. James knows he sounds pathetic, the whine in his voice dragging the words out long and high. It’s pitiful. “I just want to say I’m sorry.” 

“Sorry for what? For following me around like a lost puppy all day?” 

“That, yeah,” James confirms, and he loosens his grip on Keith’s wrist, and slides his hand down to Keith’s. James presses his thumb against the center of Keith’s palm, “and for everything else too. For the shit I put you through growing up, and here at the Garrison. You’re an incredible leader, Keith. I’ve heard about everything you’ve done out there. I’ve seen how your team looks at you. How Shiro looks at you.” 

“I--” Keith begins, but James cuts him off, squeezing a little tighter on his hand. 

“Hang on. I’m sorry Keith. I really am, and I just need you to know that--for my own sanity.” 

Keith’s brows furrow, and he squeezes his eyes shut, “What do you want, James?” Its an echo of what he’d asked only minutes before, but it’s different now. Less piercing. He sounds vulnerable.

“I don’t understand.” 

“What do you want?” Keith repeats, and his expression is unreadable, eyes still closed, “Why are you trying to apologize now?” 

“I don’t….I don’t know.”

“You’re not apologizing because you feel bad, Griffin. I know you better than that, I’ve known you for years. You want something out of this and I want to know what it is.” Keith’s fingers twitch against James’s, but James just tightens his grip, and rubs the pad of his thumb across Keith’s palm. 

“I don’t.” He pauses, takes a deep breath in, “I don’t want anything.” James thinks if he says it enough that the affirmation will ring true. He wants  _ something _ from Keith, but he can’t put his finger on what that something is. It’s a desire, somewhere on the tip of his tongue that if he names, if he dares to will it into existence, could consume him from the inside out. 

Keith finally opens his eyes, gaze fixed on their hands. His voice is barely above a whisper when he speaks, but it still echoes in the hallway, “then what do you need?”

Blood rushes to James’s head, and Keith shifts his grip to intertwine their fingers. He huffs out a little laugh, it’s breathless, and weak, and James knows that this has already gone too far. He doesn’t hesitate to say, “you.”

And Keith is on him, pushing James back, back, back, until he’s pressed against a wall, gasping from the force of it. One of Keith’s hands rests on his waist, the other is pulled from James’s grasp, and repositioned along the side of his face. Keith’s thumb digs into a spot just under his jaw, and the pressure borders on painful as Keith pulls James’s face to his own. 

Keith kisses like he’s fighting. It’s sharp, aggressive, and he is holding James’s face where he wants it, fingers pressing into his temple and hairline as he guides the angle of it. Keith bites into James’s mouth, and the slick slide of his tongue makes him weak in the knees.

James breathes Keith’s name into the other man’s mouth, and fists his hand in the hair that rests low on the back of his neck, tugging just enough that Keith pulls back from the kiss, scowling. “What?” He murmurs. It’s quiet. 

“I just…” James hesitates, and threads his fingers through Keith’s hair to cradle to back of his head, “I just wanted to see your face.” 

Keith’s face softens at that, and the hard lines melt away. He leans back in to press a kiss to the corner of James’s mouth, before he buries his face against his neck, “Shut up, Griffin.” 

Its an unexpected moment of tenderness, and it doesn’t last long, because by the time James has begun to process the warmth of Keith’s nose against his pulse, Keith is already biting into the skin at the corner of his jaw. A low whine punches its way out of James when Keith rucks up his uniform to sprawl a hand out just below his ribs, while he wedges his thigh in between James’s legs. 

“Not here, Keith,” James protests, but its weak as it tumbles from his lips, “God. Anywhere but here.” 

Keith smiles against his throat.

 

*****

 

Anywhere but there ends up being pressed up against the door of James’s quarters. Keith had reached just past James’s hip to lock the door behind them the moment they’d crossed the threshold, his lips already roving down the other man’s neck with a smirk.

James’s uniform jacket is unbuttoned, hanging low and bunched up around his wrists. Keith’s hand is splayed across his stomach, holding him in place, and the door is rough against his bare shoulder blades. Each breath he takes reminds him explicitly of the man on his knees before him. 

“Fuck,” he gasps, head tilting back with a soft  _ thud _ against the door, his voice is reverent, “Keith, oh my god.” 

Keith looks up at him through long lashes, and the warmth of his breath against his hipbone when he hums sends a shudder up James’s spine. In his wildest dreams, his deepest fantasies, he’d never envisioned this. Had never allowed himself to think this far. It would have meant addressing the burning in his gut that had threatened to consume him for years. 

It consumes him now. 

Keith’s mouth is velvet soft, methodical, wet, sticky, hot,  _ everything _ as it works against James, and all he can do is thank God. Thank Keith. Thank Shiro for sharing. He says as much, muttering incoherently when Keith wraps a hand around him, and he’s not sure if Keith can hear him clearly. He hopes not. 

James doesn’t realize he’s been tapping his fingers into the door until Keith pulls off of him with a wet  _ pop _ and hisses, “stop that.” James just nods and looks down at him, and Keith is wiping his hand across the back of his mouth, before licking a hot stripe up the underside of his dick. 

James is being taken apart piece by piece, or maybe he’s falling apart. Either way it doesn’t matter. The sharp graze of Keith’s teeth in the warm, wet void of his mouth hold James’s pieces together, even as the pressure builds at the base of his spine. At some point, Keith’s hand disappears from across his stomach, and James is helpless to the sounds that fall out of his mouth, incoherent and inhuman. 

He starts to drum his fingers against the door again, desperate for some kind of distraction from the low buzzing in his ears. The hand Keith has been using to work him over shoots up to twine their fingers together, and he hums disapprovingly. 

And  _ that _ is what pushes James over the edge: the tenderness of Keith’s hand in his own. It’s pitiful and poetic, but James wouldn’t change it if he could, because the feeling of Keith swallowing around him with their fingers laced together is everything that he could have ever wanted.

They’re silent for a long while after that, Keith still kneeling with his forehead pressed against James’s hip, while James struggles to catch his breath. After a while, James tugs on Keith’s hand, and hauls him to his feet. 

“Keith,” James murmurs, reaching out to sweep the hair from in front of his eyes, “hey.” Keith looks up at him, “let me take care of you.” 

Keith’s eyes are hazy, and his face is flushed, lips barely parted in his daze. He takes a step back, and James’s first reaction is to pull him back in, but Keith holds up the hand not wrapped up in James’s own. It’s sticky wet and-- _ oh _ , “Oh.” 

James wraps his fingers around Keith’s wrist, and brings the proffered hand to his mouth, running his tongue from the base of his palm to the tip of his middle finger. 

“Jesus Christ, James,” Keith sighs, watching James intently as he cleans his hand up bit by bit with the flat of his tongue. James can’t help but laugh a bit around the fingers in his mouth, its a bit hysterical, but Keith smiles at him anyway. “Who are you?” 

He draws the fingers from his mouth, and presses a kiss to the center of Keith’s palm, “still just James. I’ve always been James.” 

“You’re not the James Griffin I remember,” and it’s Keith’s turn to laugh now, “What about the James that used to torment me?” 

“I didn’t--” James’s mouth snaps shut, and he lets out a little puff of air, nuzzling his face further into Keith’s palm. He doesn’t say anything for a beat, and then, “I’m sorry Keith. I’m so sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” Keith sighs, “I wasn’t any better than you were back then, and it’s been years. Longer for you, even, than it has been for me. I think we’re both different people now, and I think we know that.”

James leans forward, to place a kiss to Keith’s cheek, “yeah,” he agrees with a little chuckle, “a lot has changed.” 

Keith hums in agreement, turning his head so that his lips meet James’s again. 

They stay like that for a while, pressed against one another in a long, hard line of muscle. Keith licks into James’s mouth like he knows what he’s doing, like he knows what will make James boneless and pliant beneath him, and maybe, James realizes, he does. Keith moves from his mouth, leaving a line of feather-light kisses across the ridge of his cheekbone and buries his hand into the hair at the base of his neck. 

“I should go,” Keith murmurs against his temple. 

“You could stay.” 

“Shiro is probably wondering where I am,” Keith says, and the words are gentle, but they still feel like something sharp gouging into James’s chest. 

“Oh,” James immediately wilts under his touch, then, “so, you and Shirogane, huh?” 

Keith nods, and takes a step back, “yeah. Shiro and I.” 

James tries to mask the hurt when he asks, “Is it good?” 

“Yeah,” Keith says, voice tinged with pride, “it’s great. He’s great.”

James looks down at where Keith’s fingers are still wrapped up in his, and tries to ignore the pang of heartache, “I’m happy for you Keith. You deserve it.”

Keith’s eyes follow James’s and he smiles. It’s a soft, small thing, but it lights a little flicker of hope in the pit of his stomach. “Come with me,” he says, “I think Shiro would like to meet you.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Never more so.” 

**Author's Note:**

> keith, when they go back to the party: james, this is my boyfriend, shiro. shiro, this is my boyfriend, james.
> 
>    
> this is so different from anything else i've written, so come yell at me about Jeith/Sheith/Jeiro on [tumblr](http://patienceyieldslove.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/sheithinlove).


End file.
